


Anything But Mine

by Lyoung_50



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Physical Therapist Castiel, Physical Therapy, Police Officer Benny, Police Officer Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyoung_50/pseuds/Lyoung_50
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Police officer Dean Winchester wasn't expecting anything but grief when he was injured on a search, and sent to have physical therapy for his knee. He certainly wasn't expecting the dark haired, blue eyed Castiel Novak to breeze into the examination room with calloused hands, electric smiles, and corny jokes. Now, he's questioning everything he'd been raised to believe in the small, coastal town, and trying to figure out if the socially awkward physical therapist was even interested in a high school drop-out that used his GED to get through the police academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea came to me while I was in my own PT appointment, and I figured that I would write out an introduction to see what the response was like. I would appreciate any feedback, and input as to whether I should continue as a multichapter.

"Leave me alone, Sammy. It's a bum knee, I'm not a complete cripple." Dean grumbled, fumbling with the door to the building and attempting to push Sam away. His brother had been fussing, and trying to Mother Hen him ever since he'd hurt his knee at work.

It wasn't as if he didn't know that working as a cop was dangerous, he was all too aware. But, that didn't make the fact that, when he had finally gotten his first _real_ injury, it had been a bit of an embarassement.

He and his partner, Benny, had been checking out a local abandoned house that they'd gotten a few noise complaints about, and Dean had stepped on a rotted floorboard, sending him crashing through from the second floor to the basement.

As soon as they knew that there was no permanent damage to his knee, he'd immediately become the laughing stock of the department.

"Dean, you're supposed to be taking it easy! This isn't taking it easy. Let me help you open the damned door." Sam responded, his brow furrowed in frustration. "The doctor wants you to be using the crutches, too, where are they?"

"I left them at home. Like, I said, I ain't a damned cripple. I can walk by myself." He limped toward the large, round desk in the far corner of the waiting room with the words "Check In" plastered on a sign above it, and a small brunette woman behind the it.

"Hello, sir." The woman smiled, her eyes sparkling behind black, thicked-rimmed glasses. "Can I have your name, please?"

"Dean. Winchester." He  grinned, leaning forward on his arm against the desk. A faint blush brushed across the woman's face at his grin, and she tapped at the keyboard in front of her shyly.

"Alright, Mister Winchester, Mister Novak will be with you in a few moments, if you'll just fill out this paper work while you wait." She slid a clipboard with a few different papers on it, and a pen. Dean gave her a sly wink, and nodded his thanks before joining Sam where he'd settled into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

He was nearly done with filling out every question about every cut, bruise, and near-death-experience that he'd ever had in his life on the much too thorough paperwork when a small blonde woman came into the waiting room, flipping through a chart before calling his name.

Dean carefully pushed himself out of the chair, and hobbled after the woman. They walked past a few small examination rooms with blue tables until she stopped in front of the last room, and gestured for him to enter.

"Alright, Mister Novak will be in in a moment, if you'll just remove your jeans." His eyes snapped up to look at her at the last statement. The woman gave a short chuckle at the look on his face. "It's easier for him to examine your knee. If you aren't wearing any undergarments, there are paper shorts in the cabinet in the far corner." Dean stared at the woman in horror for a few moments, his mind rolling around the statement "paper shorts".

"Sweetheart, I don't do shorts." He shook his head, and headed into the room, waiting until the door was shut to shift out of his jeans, and hop up on the table.

The walls of the exam room were plastered with more diagrams of limbs then Dean had ever seen in his life. Everything from knees, and shoulders, to smaller joints in the foot and hand, and every possible injury to each of them was depicted on the colorful posters. He was immersed in the potential ligament damage to the hand when the door opened, and a man slipped in, closing it behind him once again.

"Mister Winchester?" The man's voice was surprisingly low, and filled with gravelly tones that startled Dean silent for a moment. He was relatively tall, though still a bit shorter then Dean, with a mop of unruly, dark hair on his head. When he looked up from the file in his hand, Dean let out a barely audible gasp. The man's eyes were so blue that they almost seemed as if they were illuminated. It wasn't until the man cleared his throat and repeated his name that Dean realized that he was staring, slack-jawed.

"I, uh, yeah. Dean. Call me Dean." He mumbled, extending his hand to shake the therapist's.

"Well, Dean, my name is Mister Novak. You can call me Castiel. We like to keep things casual around here, we find it makes our patients feel more at ease, and therefore it creates better results." Castiel gave an attempt at a reassuring smile, which Dean was pretty sure he didn't do often because it looked more forced then anything he'd ever seen.

"Castiel...that's quite the mouthful, man, did your parents wanna torture when you were learning how to spell it?" He chuckled, vaguely realizing that he was sitting in the middle of an exam room, making dumb jokes while wearing nothing but his navy blue boxer briefs. Castiel let out a short laugh as he settled on the small, rolling stool in front of Dean.

"Not quite, but, they did believe that it was a good idea to name me after an angel. My father was a linguist, and he had some strange obsession with the Enochian language." Castiel had moved closer somewhere during his explination, and was carefully manipulating Dean's knee, watching for any reaction to the movements. He sucked in a short breath of shock when the man's warm hands trailed around the back of his knee.

His fingers were calloused, and warm against his skin, and his thumbs were rubbing slow circles against the side of his knee in the most distracting way.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice snapped him out of his trance, and he stammered an apology, asking for him to repeat the question. "I asked if this is causing you any pain?" His thumb pressed into one side of his knee, and he hissed quietly, a dull flare of pain shooting through his knee.

"Yeah, that's a little sore there." Castiel nodded and removed his thumb from the spot, going about the rest of his examination relatively quickly. Once he'd finished assessing the problem in Dean's knee, Castiel sat back with a polite smile.

"Alright, Dean, I'm gonna have you lay on your back right on that table, and I'm going to move this pillow under your knee so I can show you some stretches, and exercises to do between now, and our next visit." Dean nodded numbly, shifting to lay flat on his back.

The pillow sliding under his knee was a relief, allowing him to rest his sore knee on it to take some pressure off. The relief, however, was short lived when he felt Cas' hand on his leg again, lifting his leg to stretch it across his body. He let out a low groan of pain as the stretch started to pull a bit too much.

Cas noted the reaction, and slowly pulled back to a point where it was tolerable. He rotated Dean's knee slowly, making sure that he didn't push past the point of pain.

Over the next half hour, Cas walked him through a series of three exercises that he would need to do three times a day until their next appointment. When he pulled away, Dean assumed that they were done until Cas pulled out a purple foam roller. He eyed the foam for a long moment.

"This is a foam roller. There's a string of muscle that goes along the outside of your thigh that can get rather tight, and it helps if you roll it out with one of these." He waved the roller in the air to show him. Dean nodded in response. "Alright, I'll need you to lay on your opposite side, and I'll slide the pillow between your knees to elevate it."

Dean complied slowly, settling his knee back against the pillow after Cas had shifted it. It wasn't until the roller connected with his leg and Cas began _massaging_ the muscle in his leg with the roller that Dean realized exactly how much trouble he was in.

The only sounds in the room were the sound of the roller rolling across his skin, and his boxers briefs, and the sound of his breathing as it became heavier. Cas' hands skimmed across his skin every few rolls of the foam roller, and he felt a familiar heat stirring low in his stomach.

He had just started to try to come up with excuses from the growing bulge in his boxer briefs just in case he had to stand up when Cas thankfully pulled the roller away. He gave a soft pat to Dean's side, and thankfully either didn't notice the bulge, or he was professional enough to not say anything.

"I'm going to print out these exercises so that you can take the visuals home for our next appointment. You can go ahead, and put your jeans, and shoes back on while I'm doing that." With that, he left the room, leaving a scent of ozone, electricity, and cologne behind as he went. Dean inhaled the scent slowly as he sat up, glancing down at his crotch with an accusing glare before standing to slip into his jeans.

The budding erection had, thankfully, subsided enough to not be noticeable when Cas returned to the room. He handed Dean a piece of paper with sketched out diagrams of the exercises that he had just been through with him.

"Okay, so there are your exercises. You should ice your knee a few times a day, after doing these, and then we will see where you're at with those next week when you come in for your appointment." He gave Dean a thousand watt smile that left him nearly speechless. All he could do was nod, and shake Cas' hand.

"I guess I'll, uh, see ya next week, Cas." He stammered, his hand still tucked into Cas'. The other man was still smiling when he nodded.

"I will see you next week, Dean."

The last thought that crossed Dean's mind as he brushed past Sam to scurry toward the Impala and dropped into the driver's seat with a shaky sigh was that he was surely going to have a problem with this arrangement.


	2. Desk Work and Coffee Shops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is getting incredibly tired of looking at the stacks of paperwork when he gets an unexpected phone call.

If there was one thing that Dean hated more than having to pretend that he wasn't crushing on his insanely attractive physical therapist around Sam, it was sitting on desk duty in the bullpen while everyone else in the department was on exciting busts. He was midway through a stack of paperwork a mile high when his partner flopped into the chair in front of his desk.

"How goes ridin' the desk again, brother?" Benny drawled, a half-eaten Slim Jim hanging from his teeth as he grinned. Dean shot him an unamused look in response, dropping his pen with a small clatter.

"I've considered driving staples into my forehead several times today, and it isn't even lunch time." He sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. "How're things out on the beat? Anything interesting pop up?"

"Actually, yeah, we're lookin' into a few calls down on the docks. Thinkin' there might be somethin' going on down in the storage units down there."

"Are you serious? I fall through a damn floorboard, and you guys get to go check out the docks?" The storage units down at the docks had always been something of a golden egg for Dean and Benny. It was a suspected area of drug trade and potential human trafficking, but they had never been able to get enough evidence in the case to get a warrant.

"Yeah, man, it looks like we might actually be able to lock down somethin' solid. Or, at least solid enough to get a foot in the door. After that, it should be smooth sailin'." Benny leaned forward, closing his hand around Dean's coffee mug to steal a quick sip. His nose wrinkled, and he drew his hand over his lips as he resettled the mug on the desk. "God, I don't know how you can drink that bitter crap. S'disgusting."

Dean chuckled, his brow quirking. He'd always found it a bit strange that Benny, this hulking man with a drawl thick enough to spread on toast, couldn't stomach black coffee. He had to stir enough cream and sugar into his mug to qualify it more as a dessert then a beverage.

"If you weren't such a bitch you'd be able to drink your coffee like a man." He smirked at the glare the Benny shot him. He was about the respond when the radio in the middle of Dean's desk crackled to life, the dispatcher spewing a slew of codes before it silenced. Benny let out a quiet sigh before standing, running a hand through his hair.

"This conversation ain't over, Deanna, but I gotta run." Benny shot him a sharp smile, clipping the radio to his duty belt.

"Yeah, yeah, tackle one of them evil bastards for me while you're out there. Who they got you workin' with?" He had to hold back a laugh at the groan that came in response.

"That rookie kid, Garth. He's like a puppy on crack. Too damned cheery for any one person to _ever_ be." As if on cue, the scrawny rookie bounded into the bullpen, all flailing, gangly limbs, and hair slicked back with too much product. He looked at Dean through his oversized aviator sunglasses, his hands rest on his hips.

"Lafitte, we've got a call. We better roll out."

"Jesus, kid, how many times do I gotta tell ya that _nobody_ talks that way 'round here." Garth gaped at Benny for a moment, his cheeks tinted pink. "Just go get your ass in the cruiser. And, I'm drivin', so don't even try it."

"You got it, partner, I'll meet you out there." Garth scampered out of the bullpen eagerly, and Dean could swear the poor kid almost piddled himself right there under Benny's stare.

"Yeah...good luck with that, man. No killin' him, I don't wanna have to come investigate you for homicide." Dean grinned as Benny headed toward the door. The other man threw him the bird over his shoulder as he disappeared, leaving Dean to his own devices. He shifted the items on his desk around a few times to procrastinate before deciding that the luke warm coffee in his mug needed to be refilled, and heaving himself upt o shuffle to the break room.

Halfway back to his desk, his deskphone began ringing. Dean cursed under his breath as he limped toward it, trying his best to move quickly and practically falling into his chair as he lifted the phone to his ear.

"Officer Winchester." He answered, trying to hide the fact that shuffling across the bullpen had gotten him out of breath.

"Mister Winchest-...Dean? It's Castiel Novak with the physical therapy office." Dean most definitely did _not_ choke on the coffee he was drinking. It had just...spilled onto the front of his uniform by accident, so he had to try wiping it off with blank sheets of paper from his desk awkwardly.

"Uh...yeah, hey, Cas..." He stammered when he had composed himself enough to respond.

"I'm calling to tell you that we won't be able to have our appointment this afternoon in the office. We seem to have a leak in the main work center's piping, so they need to fix it this afternoon." Dean vaguely registered that Cas' voice sounded even more sinful on the phone then it did in person, and a shudder ran through his body.

"That's shitty, man, sounds expensive. So, uh...you callin' to reschedule?"

"Acutally, I was calling to see if you would like to meet up somewhere else. We can't do the exercises, or anything else we did last time, but we can discuss new exercises, as well as your progress." It felt like his blood froze in his veins as shock and panic set in.

Meeting somewhere else? Outside the office? He had endured a few appointments with Cas that had gone a lot like the first one had, and ended about the same, with him hiding an embarassing boner and mumbling his way through goodbyes. But, this was new. This was...dangerous.

"Meet somewhere...uh...yeah, we could do that. Where were you thinking?"

"Well, if you want, we could meet at a coffee shop, if that's comfortable for you. Unless you have a different suggestion?"

"Nah, man, coffee shop is good. I'm off shift early today, so I only have a few hours left. You wanna meet at the shop near the department at like three?"

"That sounds like a good plan, Dean." He could hear the smile in Cas' voice, and it put a much too vivid picture in his head. "I will see you at three."

"See ya then, Cas." He quickly hung up the phone, and leaned back in his chair, his heart hammering in his chest. Dean drew his clammy hand over his face as he tried to calm himself.

"Officer Winchester? Are you alright? You look pretty pale." His eyes snapped up to see the small secretary looking at him from across the room, her eyes concerned.

"Yeah, I'm good, Anna." He forced a smile, and nodded. "Just, uh, a little bit too hot in here. Thank you, though." She gave him a polite smile, and turned back to her computer. He let out a shaky breath, and glanced at the small clock on his desk, and listened to the second hand that had gotten inexplicably loud.

Three o'clock. He was meeting Cas...in a coffee shop. And, he was having an incredibly hard time telling himself that the butterflies in his stomach were from hunger, not excitement.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The coffee shop wasn't far from the department, but Dean made sure to leave work earlier then he had intended to, anyway. He had run back to his rundown rental place on the beach (which he was pretty damn proud of, despite the fact that it wasn't in the best condition and only cost him three-hundred dollars a month, because he still had a spot on the beach), hopped in the shower, and changed into a well-worn pair of faded jeans, and an olive drab henley, before returning.

It was a small shop, a little locally owned place with coffees named after their regular clients, and pasteries that were baked in the bake at four in the morning. He caught sight of Cas as soon as he walked in front of the large window in the front, nestled into one of the corner booths with a steaming mug rolling between his hands. His heart nearly popped out of his chest.

He wasn't wearing the normal "standard dress code" khaki slacks, and white polo with the office logo on the front. Instead, he was wearing a pair of jeans, and a tight white t-shirt. The light shirt seemed to make his messy hair look even darker as Dean approached the counter. He ordered himself a coffee before heading over to the booth with the mug in his hand. It wasn't until he slid onto the other side of the table that Cas looked up with a polite smile.

"Hello, Dean." He ground out in that gravelly voice of his.

"Heya, Cas." Dean responded, finding a smile making its way onto his face immediately.

"Thank you for meeting me here. I know this isn't exactly a conventional setting for a PT appointment." Dean barked out a laugh, setting his mug aside to let the scorching coffee cool some before replying.

"Yeah, this ain't like the office. All your other clients get the fancy coffee shop treatment, too, or are you just sucking up to the cop so I don't write ya a ticket?" He teased, only partially joking. He actually wanted to know, as pathetic as it sounded.

"Well, a bit of both. No, I didn't ask to see my other clients outside the office, I just rescheduled them. But, I am also not "sucking up". I just don't want to delay getting a fine officer of the law, such as yourself, back into the field. Lord knows that we need brave men out there to keep everyone safe." Dean was taken aback for a moment. He certainly hadn't expected _that_ as an answer, and it made him smile. It was nice to be appreciated.

"It's just a day job, man, someone has to do it. I figure, why not me?" There was a stretch of silence after he spoke, and Cas just stared at him, head cocked to the side in that adorable way of his, and his eyes squinted, as if Dean was some anatomy text book that he could read, and figure him out. "So, uh...exercises?"

"Ah, yes." Cas reached into the leather shoulder bag that was settled next to him on the booth bench and pulled out another print out with diagrams, handing it over to Dean. "These are the exercises that I would like you to work on for our next visit. They are a bit less intense then the ones I gave you last week, I figured your muscles could use a rest week. How did you do with those?"

"Pretty good. Leg was pretty sore the first few days, but I got used to the movements, and felt better with them." He sipped his coffee cautiously at first before deciding that it had cooled enough for him to take longer drinks.

"I'm glad to see that you're actually following through with them. Far too often, I have clients that only do the exercises when I am hovering in the office and instructing them."

"Hey, man, I wouldn't be comin' to the appointments if I wasn't going to commit. I'm willing to do whatever I gotta do to get my ass off desk duty. If I have to stare at many more stacks of paperwork for other people's collars, I might lose what's left of my marbles." He chuckled into the mug, glancing up to see Cas looking at him curiously.

"...Collars?" He asked, confusion evident in his tone. as he sipped, what appeared to be, some sort of creamy, frothy drink in his mug. Dean cringed internally at the concoction.

"Yeah, it's...well, it's "industry" speak for arresting someone. It's called your collar if you're the one to make the arrest. That's what it's all about; collaring the bad guys, and gettin' 'em off the streets." Cas nodded thoughtfully, as if he were considering the statement thoroughly.

"I see. That makes sense." Dean laughed quietly at the tone of Cas' voice.

"It ain't exactly interesting to most people. Sammy, my brother, he usually just smiles and nods when I'm tellin' him something about work. He's a good kid. Polite as all hell." Dean felt that panic rush over him again when he caught sight of the faint smile on Cas' lips. That was personal...too personal to be talking to your physical therapist about, he figured. "So, uh...that it?"

"That is all of the business I needed to discuss, yes." Cas nodded politely. "If you'd like to leave, you can, I'm sure you're very busy." Acutally, he wasn't. It was Friday night, he was out of work early, and his big plan was to sit on the back porch and watch the waves rolling in.

"I got some time...that is, if ya don't mind me hanging around and bugging you?" Cas' grin went from polite to genuine quickly.

"Not at all. I don't have any plans, so, feel free to "hang around", Dean."

So, he did. They sat in the far corner of "Harvelle's Beans 'N Bagels", the table between them littered with empty coffee mugs and Cas' sugar packets, until long after the last patron had left, and Jo, the owner's daughter, had to usher them both out because it was time to lock up for the day. They said their goodbyes, and Dean made his way back to his house, a grin plastered across his face.

When his head hit the pillow that night, he had to scroll through his cellphone's contact list one last time, _just_ to make sure that he really, truly had Cas' number, his personal cell number, stored in there properly. He had almost drifted off to sleep when the phone buzzed, and a small text alert popped up.

<Text from; Cas Novak>

"Dean, I enjoyed our talk this afternon. Make sure you ice after those exercises, and I look forward to seeing you at our next appointment."

 

He chuckled, reading over it a few times. Cas texted like he spoke; eloquent, and polite. He typed out a response quickly.

<To: Cas Novak>

"I had a good time, too, Cas. Don't work too hard. ;) I'll see ya next week, g'night."

 

He didn't have to wait long for the response, and he grinned as he read it.

<Text from: Cas Novak>

"Goodnight, Dean."

 


	3. Taxi Cab Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a surprising call at one-thirty in the morning on his night off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to put this chapter out much sooner, but had some technical difficulties. Long story short, I had to reset my entire computer, losing every document that I had on it, and just uggggggh. So, hopefully you guys like this chapter, even if it took longer then I anticipated!

One of the worst parts about being a cop was that Dean rarely got a night where he could sleep without worrying about being called in at two in the morning because there was some new case. Luckily for him, Friday night happened to be one of those nights. He had Saturday off, and he intended to spend the morning, until at least noon, with his face buried into his drool-stained pillow.

The thought of peaceful sleep was shattered, however, when his phone began blaring the rock guitar riff that served as his ringtone at one-thirty in the morning. He blearily pawed across the end table until his fingers closed around the phone, and he flipped it open, pressing it to his ear.

"H'llo?" He grumbled, his voice thick and heavy with sleep.

"Dean Winchester?" Came an unfamiliar drawl from the other end. He tried to rack his sleep-addled brain to place the voice, but came up blank.

"Yeah, that's me. Who's askin'?"

"This is Ash, down at the Roadhouse? There's a guy here, says you can give 'im a ride home. He's pretty smashed, and I don't intend on givin' him his keys back any time soon." Dean sat up carefully, rubbing at his face and messy hair. Guy at the bar...was Sam in town, and he hadn't told Dean? It wouldn't have been the first time that his little brother had driven to visit him from college without warning. Dean didn't exactly keep track of the vacation schedule at Stanford, and Sam didn't exactly seem to keen on calling him as long as the tuition checks found their way every semester.

"Tall guy, long hair?" He questioned, moving around his room with a limp to pull on a pair of jeans, and his least wrinkled shirt which happened to be a red and blue plaid button-down.

"Naw, man, average height, short, messy hair." There was muffled speaking in the background, and he thought that he could hear his name intermingled with some mumbled words. "Says his name is Novak."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, nearly dropping his cellphone. Cas was at a bar...drunk...and, he'd told the bartender to call Dean. What the hell did that mean? Physical therapists didn't just call their clients up when they were drunk for a ride. But, then again, Dean was a cop...

"Hello?" Ash's irritated voice snapped him from his thoughts.

"Yeah, uh, I'll be right there. Lemme get dressed. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, or get himself hurt." He ended the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket, and finished getting dressed quickly. He smoothed down his hair a few times, and snagged his keys before taking off toward the Impala in the driveway.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Harvelle's Roadhouse was a massive wooden building with shutters that hung off of the dirty windows, and floorboards that were so warped that you felt drunk just walking across them. It wasn't the sort of place that Dean had figured Cas to hang out in, but he'd been in quite a few times himself. They had cold, cheap beer, and damned good chicken wings, and the waitresses weren't bad to look at.

He spotted Cas through the dingy window as his boots crunched across the gravel outside the bar. The man was leaning against his elbows on the bar, dress shoe-clad feet swinging on his barstool, and a small plastic cup of water in front of him. He looked positively dejected, and it broke Dean's heart a bit. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, and strode over quickly.

"Cas?" He spoke quietly, his hand resting on the man's back so he didn't startle him. Cas barely even reacted to the touch, his blue eyes swiveling to look at Dean a moment hazily before they focused enough to realize who was standing in front of him.

"Dean? You came!" He turned on the stool and slung an arm over Dean's shoulders. "I didn't know if you were gonna show up." He let out a rather undignified hiccup before it dissolved into a giggle.

"Cas, man, you're drunk off your ass. C'mon, lets get you home." He carefully started to pull Cas off the stool, his arm going around Cas' waist. Even through the fabric of his dress shirt, Dean could tell that Cas was well-built. It didn't surprise him, he spent his entire day coaching people about muscle tone, and reminding them to do their exercises.

Cas leaned against him, a heavy, solid weight that had Dean wanting to crawl out of his skin. This was new, and it was setting off a thousand warnings in his head that tried to make him turn tail, and run. He wasn't supposed to be there, and he sure as hell wasn't supposed to be pulling Cas closer as they stumbled toward his car.

They had just gotten out the door when he noticed how quiet Cas had gotten since they began walking, and how pale and clammy the man's face looked. He barely had time to push himself away, and grasp Cas' upper arms before Cas was heaving up the contents of his stomach violently across the gravel.

"Oh, that's charming." He grumbled, patting the other man's back a few times absently.

"Oh, _God_ , I'm sorry." Cas groaned between bouts, his voice ragged and raw. "I threw up on your shoe." He mused before his muscles convulsed. Dean noted that some had, in fact, splattered across the toe of his boot, but it was not nearly as much as he'd expected to see and he thanked his lucky stars for small miracles.

When Cas had effectively emptied his stomach, Dean helped him into the passenger's seat of the Impala, snagging a tash bag from the trunk and handing it over immediately.

"If ya gotta puke again, it better make it into that trash bag. Nobody throws up in my Baby. Not even me, capiche?" Cas nodded weakily, his head resting against the window.

"Yes, I "capiche", Dean."

"Good, now...I got no clue where you live, man, so you're gonna have to naviagte for me, you think you can do that?" Cas sat up slightly, clutching the trash bag as he glanced around, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I....um..." He gave Dean a sheepish look. "Dean, I believe I...may be too drunk to, uh..." Dean stared at him a moment in shock.

"You're telling me that you're too drunk to know where you live? You serious?" Cas nodded embarassedly, and Dean sighed in response, starting the car with a nod. "Alright, then. You can crash at Casa de Winchester for tonight. Hope you're not expecting anything five-star, but I got a couch that ain't exactly the worst accomadation in history."

"Thank you, Dean." Cas nodded, some of the color having returned to his face so he looked semi-normal.

"Ya know, you're pretty damned articulate for a drunk guy. What's up with that?"

"I don't know...I have always been this way. Alcohol does not seem to affect my speech. Just everything else." Dean started back toward his house, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and blowing out a slow breath.

"So...any particular reason that you got so smashed you can't remember the where you live?" Cas let out a short chuckle mixed with a burp. He made a face, smacking his lips before answering.

"You get right to the point, don't you?" Cas cleared his throat for a moment before continuing. "My...partner and I are no longer together." Dean stared at the road ahead of him, making a right turn off of the main road toward his house.

"...Partner? As in...like, 'life partner'?" Cas nodded slowly.

"Yes...I returned home from work this evening to find a message on my answering machine stating that he didn't think I was invested in our relationship anymore because I had been more distracted then usual lately. He said that he didn't believe me when I told him that it was just work on my mind." He heaved a weary sigh, and Dean almost had to physically restrain himself from reaching over to touch him in some form of comfort.

' _Both hands on the wheel, Winchester. Reaching over and copping a feel on the dude who's pouring his drunken heart out in the passenger's seat is in poor taste.'_ His subconcious chimed in, bringing a scowl to his face.

"That's...I'm sorry, man that's really shitty. The guy coulda at least had the balls to tell you in person. At least he didn't try pulling the 'it's not you, it's me' line."

"You would think that he wouldn't have, but, actually...and I quote, 'honestly, you are very career oriented, and I just don't think that I can handle someone who isn't as all in in the relationship as I am'." Dean couldn't stop the scoff that escaped him.

"This guy sounds like a real piece of work, man."

"Balthazar is...he is definitely a unqiue specimen."

"Dude...seriously? Who the hell names their kid _Balthazar_? Did his parents hate him, or something? Jesus...you guys together a long time?" Cas shook his head, putting his hand on the dashboard to 'steady' himself if the dizzy look on his face was any indication.

"Not really. Four months...ish." Dean's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Hey, that's longer then any relationship I've had." He could feel Cas' stare burning into the side of his head. "I didn't used to be much of a 'relationship' type of a guy. More of a love-em-and-leave-em."

"You didn't 'used to'?"

"Yeah..." Dean nodded slowly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled onto his road. Sober Cas was invasive and investigative enough, but drunk Cas? Oh, drunk Cas was a whole new level of pushing personal boundaries, and that wasn't a can of worms that Dean was looking to open up while the man in his passanger's seat was holding an oversized airplane barf bag.

"And what about now?" And there it was. Cas may as well have pressed a forty-five to his head and pulled the trigger.

"Now...I dunno, man. Been thinkin' lately that maybe having someone around might not be so bad, ya know? Thinkin' that maybe the house would be less quiet if I weren't the only one in it." As if on cue, Dean steered the Impala into his driveway, and cut the engine. Cas looked over the house with hazy eyes, as if taking in every inch of it.

"I like your home. It is very welcoming. Pleasant. Right on the beach." He nodded before tossing open the door on his side, and staggering out, swaying slightly as he stood. Dean quickly got out, and jogged around the front of the vehicle, catching Cas' arm.

"Well, uh...thanks, Cas. It's not exactly a manor in the Hollywood Hills, but it's something, and it's mine, so that's enough for now. I'm gonna start fixing it up as soon as cases slow down at work." He lead the man toward the front door, noting that he was getting heavier with each step. Dean didn't give it much time after Cas' head hit the throw pillows on the couch before he was passed out cold.

He manuevered the man through the debris, and pizza boxes scattered around, and laid him on the couch (which he was more then thankful he had thought to set up before leaving). He knelt on the ground in front of Cas, wincing at the pain in his knee before shifting to a comfortbale position, and reached down to begin untying the shiny dress shoes.

Cas watched him through those intense blue eyes, his torso swaying slightly. The statement that followed was so quiet that Dean almost didn't hear it when it was said. He had to strain to hear it when he asked Cas to repeat it.

"Thank you for taking me to your home, Dean. I know you didn't have to...and I know that a call from that bar was the last thing that you were expecting, but...you still came, and you still took me home."

"Hey, man, it's no problem. I would rather pick you up, and have you crash here then I would have you try drivin' home, and wrap your car around a tree." He helped Cas out of his suit jacket, and his tie before swinging his feet up onto the couch, and pulling the tattered wool blanket up to just under his chin. Cas snuggled into the cushions of the couch, almost like a child, and smile up at Dean as his eyes fell closed.

"Good night, Dean. Sweet dreams."

"G'night, Cas." He responded, slowly standing and making his way toward his bedrooom, stripping down to his boxers again and trying to regain the level of comfort he had found in his bed before Cas had called him away from it.

He never did find the comfortable spot again that night. He pushed away the subconcious thoughts about it being because he knew that his bed was missing something, something that was snoring on his couch, and he also ruled out a few other things before smiling and climbing into bed.

 


	4. Hangover Cures and Crazy Ideas

It was noon the next day before Dean heard a loud, pathetic groan from the living room, followed by a quick shuffling of feet, and the bathroom door slamming. He chuckled, rolling out of bed, and limped toward the bathroom, leaning against the wall until the sounds of heaving on the other side had ceased. He rapped his knuckles against the door lightly a few times.

"You alright in there, or am I gonna need to call in for a body bag?" There was a long pause before a squeaked, obviously shocked, response came through the door.

" _Dean_?!" The door cracked open, and blue eyes stared up at him helplessly. He pushed the door open a bit and leaned against the door jamb.

"In the flesh. You good? I got some asprin up in the cabinet, and I can grab you a glass of water. Should help with that bastard of a headache that I figure you got goin' on." Cas groaned softly, resting his head against the toilet seat.

"That would be nice, Dean, thank you." He nodded, still polite despite the fact that he looked like death warmed over. Dean moved to the kitchen as quickly as he could manage with his limp, and returned with a small glass of water, handing it to Cas.

"Drink it slow, man, you drink it too fast and you're gonna be pukin' again." Cas nodded briefly before sipping at the water. Dean moved around him carefully, snagging the asprin from the cabinet and handing over two of the blue tablets. Cas swallowed them down as well, and then leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed and his legs tucked up to his chest. "So...you feelin' pretty shitty?" Cas let out a low groan.

"I feel like I might be dying. And, I need a few...blanks filled in." He looked sheepish when his gaze met Dean's again.

"Course. Well..." He scratched at the back of his neck before deciding how to respond. "I got a call from Ash down at the Roadhouse, he said that you told him I'd be able to come pick you up. So, I came down there, pulled you outta the bar, you puked in the parking lot a few times, then we came back here 'cause you couldn't remember where you live. End of story."

"Dean...I am so sorry. This..." He let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is incredibly unprofessional of me."

"Cut the crap, man, okay? I don't mind helping people out, especially in that situation. I'm a cop, it's my job to make sure that people are safe. And, if you being safe means that you drool on my pillows for a while, that's fine by me. Got it?" Cas nodded briefly. "Alright, good. Now, I'm gonna go make my famous hangover cure breakfast, and we'll get ya feelin' better in no time." Dean rubbed his hands together, and headed toward the kitchen to immerse himself in cooking the breakfast.

He would _never_ tell anyone it, but he loved cooking. Loved it. When he was younger, he would help his mother bake pies, and cook dinner. So, now, every time he stepped foot in the kitchen with the intent of making something, it was almost as if she was there with him. It was...a connection, one that he certainly didn't want to lose.

He was almost finished with piling scrambled eggs onto one of his three clean plates when Cas stumbled into the kitchen, looking a bit more human. There was water dripping from the ends of his hair and trailing under the collar of his shirt, the wayward droplets catching Dean's eye and making his stomach twist abruptly. He cleared his throat, and forced himself to look away.

"I used your shower, Dean, I hope that is alright. I was feeling a bit...disgusting." Cas' nose crinkled as he looked down at his own shirt. There were stains across the fabric that caught Dean's eye, pulling a chuckle from his throat.

"You wanna borrow a shirt, man? Shower won't do you much good if you still smell like the inside of the drunk tank on Saint Patrick's Day." Cas nodded briefly.

"That would be best, I think, yes. Thank you, Dean" Dean emptied the pan of the remainder of eggs, moving to his room quickly, and snagged the closest clean shirt that he could find before returning. He tossed Cas the shirt absently, and the man disappeared into the bathroom for a moment to change.

When he emerged again, Dean nearly choked on the coffee that he'd been sipping. He hadn't looked at what the shirt was, but the sight of his department t-shirt, with his badge number screen printed on the front, stretched across the toned expanse of Cas' chest was...unexpected to say the least. He took a moment to reign in his breathing, and made sure that he wasn't going to have a stroke from sheer shock before he spoke.

"That, uh...that better?"

"It is much better, Dean, thank you. For all of this, I mean. For the shirt, for picking me up, for being so incredibly understanding and accepting. I thought for sure that you would be telling me that you wanted to find a new therapist to work with over breakfast...you're not waiting until I've finished eating to tell me something like that, are you?" He gave Dean a look of slight panic, as if he honestly thought for a moment that Dean would ask for anyone other than Cas. Hell, the guy could probably jab a screwdriver through his leg, and Dean would still say thanks, pay his bill, and schedule his next appointment.

"Hey, man, it's not the first time I've had a buddy ask me to come pick him up from a bar." He glanced up to check Cas' reaction when he used the word "buddy". There didn't seem to be much of a reaction one way or the other...

"Still, I owe you one." Dean reached across the small breakfast bar to slide a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast with a thin sheen of butter, and a mug of coffee over to Cas. He pulled a shrug as he grabbed his own plate, taking a seat on the stool next to Cas.

"Naw, man. It's all good. You don't owe me anything." He dug into the eggs eagerly, figuring that if his mouth was full of eggs, he was less likely to say something that would make him sound like an idiot. Luckily, Cas seemed to take that as a cue to dig into his own breakfast, and they ate in silence for a long while, the only sound being the occasional scrap of a fork on a plate.

"So, Dean...do you have to work today?" He shook his head, not bothering to swallow down the bacon in his mouth before responding.

"Uh uh. S'my day off." He mumbled around the mouthful. Cas made a face as he watched him, causing Dean to blush deeply. He swallowed quickly before mumbling an apology.

"Well, I don't want to hinder your day off. I can call a cab to come take me to get my car after breakfast." Cas nodded, mostly to himself, as he continued to eat slowly. Dean stared at him for a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

"I don't have any plans for today, I was just gonna go for a walk down to the water, see if the sand would help my knee. If you wanna...I dunno, hang around for a while, the beach is pretty nice." He shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it off as if he wasn't thrilled by the idea of having Cas in the house with him all day.

"I would like that...I haven't had a chance to see the beach since I moved here...and we didn't have a beach in the state that I'm from."

"You're not from here? Well, I mean...I kinda figured, you don't sound like most of the people from here...Where are you from?"

"Illinois. Pontiac. It's a very...conservative town. Religious. My brother, Gabriel, and I were all sent to Sunday School every weekend until we graduated high school. My father was an author, and my mother was in the choir at the church." Dean couldn't help but notice the nostalgic look on Cas' face as he spoke about his family.

"You, uh, you see your family much?" The look of nostalgia quickly faded into a look of something like pain, and Dean almost immediately regretted asking the question.

"We don't speak much. They weren't fond of my choice to go into a profession in the scientific field. My father always assumed that I would be going into the ministry, since I spent much of my time around our priest, Father Michael. When I told them that I wanted to attend medical school to study physical therapy, I don't think my father spoke to me for a week. My mother was a bit more forgiving, but you know how mothers are. Always watching out for their children, even if it is from their fathers." It was Dean's turn to cringe at the statement, his green eyes returning to stare at his breakfast plate. "Dean? I'm...I'm sorry, was it something I said?"

"I, uh, my mom died when I was a kid. Real little. Sammy, my brother, he was just a baby. Dad raised us as best he could, but...he wasn't the same as he was before mom died. Before, he would always tuck me into bed at night. Tell me a story, and tell me that someday I was gonna change the world...every night he'd say that to me." He shook his head slightly. "After mom, he expected me to keep an eye on Sammy all the time. Ya grow up fast when ya gotta play the parent for your kid brother, I guess."

"Dean...I'm very sorry. No child should have to endure that. What does your father do now?"

"He died a few years back. Heart failure. Doc says it was from all the diner burgers and beer, but I think he finally died of a broken heart. I used to try to tell him all the time that everything was gonna be okay without mom, but...it never was. Not for him, anyway." Cas' hand hand come to rest on Dean's shoulder at some point during the story, though Dean wasn't sure when.

"What about your brother? Does he live in town as well?"

"Sammy? Nah, he's off at college. Gonna be a lawyer. That's why I pick up as many hours as I can at the department, them tuition checks ain't exactly cheap at Stanford."

"You're sending your brother through law school, on a cop's salary? Dean, how are you even affording to feed yourself?" Cas was staring at him, slightly dumbfounded.

"Hey, I ain't ever had a problem with figuring that sort of stuff out. I pay Sammy's tuition. If that means that I live off of Ramen noodles and Spaghetti-O's like a teenager for a little while, then that's fine by me. It makes him happy. He loves it out there. We don't...we don't talk much. We haven't been very close recently."

"Why not?"

"Honestly, I couldn't tell ya. I think it started when he went off to college. Dad was pissed about it, so he assumed that I was pissed, too. And, yeah, for a while I was. I was pissed that he could walk away from me and dad like that. After all those years of it being the three of us against the world...then I realized that he was doing it to try to make a life for himself, and now...now I get it. I understand why he was so hellbent on getting somewhere to have something more then this little town life."

"I thought you loved it here?" Cas questioned, his words uttered close enough that Dean could feel his hair fluttering on the back of his neck with each puff of air. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his focus.

"Yeah, I do love it here. It's my home...but, I dunno. It sometimes feels too...too small. I always wanted to get in my car and just drive. See the country, meet a bunch of people. There's so much that I wanted to do, and now I'm just some dude with six bucks to his name, a GED, and a badge. I've pretty much accepted that this is where I'm gonna be until the day that I die." The silence that stretched between them after that statement was palpable. Cas was just staring at him, eyes squinted slightly, but no less intense. Dean shifted uncomfortably under the other man's gaze until Cas spoke.

"So, let's go."

"What? Go where?"

"You said that you wanted to drive, so, let's go. I don't have to work until Monday, you said that you have the day off, let's drive somewhere." Dean gaped at him for a moment, his head tilted.

"You're fuckin' with me, right? 'Cause you can't be serious." Cas stared silently, all the answer that Dean needed that he was, in fact, serious. "Cas, I don't exactly have the funds to just up and take a road trip, man. Like I said, six bucks to my name."

"Well, then it's a good thing that I get paid a ton of money to help people stretch their muscles, isn't it?" The man gave him a rare, genuine smile, his blue eyes full of mischief.

"Dude...I can't expect to take a road trip, and let you pay for everything."

"You keep coming up with all of these excuses, Dean Winchester, all of the reasons that you can't. What is it that's scaring you away from saying yes? Your father? You just said that he passed away, he's not keeping you here. Your brother? He's at Stanford, he's not keeping you here either. Besides, it's not like I'm asking you to move away permanently. It's two days. Call into the department, tell them that something came up with your knee, and you can't come back in until Monday. Then, pack a bag, get in your car, and let's go."

Dean was floored by this sudden turn of events. First thing this morning, there had been a hungover physcial therapist puking in his bathroom, and now he was staring at Dean, making him think that all of this was possible. That he could honestly just pack up, and take a weekend road trip.

"I..." He heaved out a sigh, his hand running through his hair. "Alright. Let's do it. Lemme go pack, I'll text Benny and let him know that I ain't gonna be in tomorrow, and then...then we'll go." Cas rubbed his hands together in excitement like a little kid at Christmas.

"Excellent! I'll need to stop at my house for clothing, but then we will be good."

Things moved quickly after that, and before he knew it, Dean was sitting outside Cas' (surprisingly small) house, waiting for the man to pack a bag, and come back out. Benny had responded to his text almost immediately, telling him that he needed some time off, anyway, and to rest up, so he was covered for work the next day. There were big, iron butterflies fluttering around in his stomach as he watched Cas bounding down the stairs like this was the most exciting thing he'd ever done. Hell, maybe it was. When he slid into the passenger's seat of the Impala, tossing his bag over the seat and into the back, and smiled at Dean, all of those butterflies seemed to start having simultaneous seizures.

"Alright, Dean. Point us toward the highway, and let's get this show on the road." Dean gave Cas a mock salute, and tore through he sleepy streets of their little town until he reached the on-ramp for the highway, and really let himself push his foot against the gas so he could hear his Baby's engine purr.

"So, Cas, you never said where you wanted to go. This whole shindig was your idea, so, where are we headed, oh, captain, my captain?" Cas simply gave a soft smile, his eyes trained out the windshield in a way that, if Dean looked over just right, the sunlight coming through the dirty glass made Cas look almost angelic.

"Anywhere but here."

 


	5. Wine Tastings and Hotel Showers

The perks of a road trip with someone that you barely know is that you have the chance to learn little things. Dean, for example, learned that Cas likes to sing along (rather well, he might add) to country songs that Dean has never heard before, but he doesn't know anything about AC/DC or Led Zepplin. Dean had resigned to teaching him the error of his ways, and they'd been listening to all of his old cassette tapes to educate him on the finer side of music.

He also found out that Cas was a sucker for Cool Ranch Doritos, and Coke, despite the fact that he seemed to practice insanely healthy eating in every other meal. He made corny jokes about any and everything at any chance that he got, simply for the chance to see the crinkles at the corner of Cas' eyes every time he laughed a bit too hard.

But, the most interesting thing that he found out about the other man between his beach house and the rather expensive hotel that they were checking in to, was that Cas genuinely seemed to enjoy listening to Dean's stupid stories. Everything from Sam and John, to the time that he got caught with Lisa Braeden behind the bleachers during the homecoming pep rally when they had stayed in one town for most of a year.

Now that he thought about it...Cas was one of the most truly genuine people that he'd ever met. He spoke his mind, cared about what was wrong with people, and he tried to help in any way that he could.

"Dean?" Cas' voice shook him out of his thoughts as a keycard was waved in his face.

"Hmm? Oh, uh...sorry. I was just thinkin'." He snagged the keycard, and tucked it into his back pocket before grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. They walked in a comfortable silence toward the elevator, and rode up to their room on the sixth floor. It wasn't until they were walking down the hallway toward the room until Cas spoke again.

"I'm going to grab some ice from the machine once we get inside. You're limping quite a bit on that knee. We'll stretch it out, and do some of your exercises once we get settled. I don't want you slacking on your progress just because you aren't at home." There it was. The glaring reminder that the man who had just picked up, and driven six hours with him just to "get out of town", was still his physical therapist. He was a man assigned to heal Dean's knee, that was it. How the _hell_ had they ended up here?

"Yeah, that sounds good. It's pretty sore, but I figure that's from havin' it bent for so long in the car on the way here." He swiped his card in the door once they reached the room, and pushed it open. His breath caught slightly at the sight of the room as he walked in. "Jesus, this is pretty damned nice."

"I enjoy nice accommodations. You said that you and your family traveled a lot. You never stayed in hotels like this?" Dean shook his head, dropping his bag onto the soft, stark white comforter on the queen-sized bed.

"Nah, we stayed in places that were under fifty bucks a night. The kinda places that you don't want to bring a black light into, or ask questions about the stain on the carpet. We didn't exactly spring for any sort of luxury hotels, man." Cas nodded slightly with a frown, lifting a small pamphlet on the entertainment stand.

"Oh, look at this, Dean. They have a wine tasting tonight down in the lobby. Have you ever been to one?" Dean snorted, lifting a brow at Cas skeptically.

"Do I look like the kinda guy that goes to wine tastings to you?" The laugh that emanated from Cas was a thing of beauty, and made Dean's stomach twist in a knot.

"Well, no, I suppose that you don't. They're fun, though. We should go."

"How the hell do you know so much about all this fancy shit? That come with the medical degree?" Dean smirked, mostly teasing, but the look that Cas gave him had him genuinely intrigued.

"Well, my family comes from...quite a bit of money. We were raised with things such as wine tastings, and fancy hotels, and dinners that had four different types of forks. I suppose that just carried over to when I became an adult. My cousin, Michael, would come down from Martha's Vineyard to pick up Gabriel and I, then he took us to the Vineyard every summer that we weren't at camp in the Catskills. I am rather well educated when it comes to fermented fruits."

Martha's Vineyard? The Catskills? Dean was way out of his league pining after Cas. This was a guy that had fancy dinner parties, and went to wine tastings, and fancy summer vacations. Dean was a high school dropout that didn't even get excepted into a tech school for mechanics. He suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable, and began shifting from foot to foot.

"Dean? Is...is everything alright?" Cas questioned, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, I'm good, I...I'm just gonna go grab a shower real quick." He rummaged through his bag, grabbing a pair of jeans, and a t-shirt with the word 'police' screen printed across it, and headed into the bathroom so quickly that he almost stumbled. He was resting with his back against the bathroom door when there was a series of soft knocks on it.

"Dean? Hey, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but...I really think that we need to stretch your knee out before anything else. Your muscles seem tight from the drive." As much as he didn't want to admit it, Cas was right. There was pain radiating out from under his kneecap, and his entire leg felt as though it was on fire.

After a moment of deliberation, he sighed and opened the door, limping past Cas to settle on the bed, his knee bent slightly. Cas followed behind him, staying standing beside the bed, and he rubbed his hands together for a moment before beginning to work at the muscles of Dean's leg. He let out a soft sigh as the tension in his knee began to relax, though the proximity did nothing to relieve the tension in the rest of his muscles.

He could feel the callouses on Cas' hands catching on the fabric of his pants each time he shifted the position of Dean's leg. He could see the intense focus behind the man's way-too-blue-to-be-real eyes. Could almost hear the rustle of that dark hair that constantly looked like someone had been dragging their hands through it. He could even smell the dark, musky scent of the aftershave that clung to the pale skin beneath five o'clock shadow. It was too much, too close, too overwhelming.

He was already on high alert with all of his senses, so when Cas shifted to stretch Dean's leg by pushing his leg straight up and incidentally brushed his groin over Dean's, it took every ounce of self-control and restraint that Dean possessed not to cry out a deep groan. He was as hard as a rock instantly, and he knew that Cas could tell, if the blush on the man's cheeks was any indication. He was trying to squirm away when Cas pulled his hands back.

"So, uh, when we get back, we'll need to add a few new exercises at your next appointment. But, that should be okay until then." Dean nodded, quickly squirming off the bed, and heading back into the bathroom. That man was going to be the death of him if he kept hanging around with him.

Dean had his hand stuffed under the waistband of his boxer briefs before he even had his zipper down all the way. He shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down at the same time, tearing his shirt over his head at the same time. He stepped into the hot spray of the shower, leaning his forearm against the wall as he wrapped his other hand around the heated flesh of his erection. It felt a little...dirty to be jerking himself off while Cas was in the room a few feet away. Especially since it was thoughts of Cas that he was using as material.

His hand moved in a fast blur, his teeth nearly drawing blood as they sunk into his bottom lip to keep himself from letting the groans pass his lips as his release hit him suddenly. He shuddered for a few moments after, his breathing labored and ragged. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten himself off to thoughts of Cas, but it was the first time that he had the object of his _constant_ train of thought had been that close. Not for the first time since leaving the safety of his beach house, he considered the fact that this was a horrible idea.

* * * * * * * * * *

By the time that Dean had gotten out of the shower, and dressed in a pair of loose pajama pants and a white t-shirt, Cas had returned from filling the ice bucket, and was filling a small plastic bag with the cubes. He didn't look up from his project when he spoke.

"I went down to check out the wine tasting to see if it was worth going to. There aren't many other guests down there, and the vendors seem more interested in scowling at each other then they are in showcasing their product." Dean carefully flopped down onto his bed, his arms crossed behind his head.

"Yeah, well...I suppose that's 'cause we're here during the off season. We don't get many tourists anywhere around here during this time of year." Cas moved about for a moment, wrapping a wash cloth aroud the baggy of ice before approaching Dean.

"That's part of the reason that it appealed so much to me when I decided to move here. It's got a few months of hustle and bustle, but then it also has its down time." He settled onto the edge of the bed, grabbing the extra pillow by Dean's head, and tucked it under his knee, careful not to jostle him too much.

He settled the ice onto the spot on Dean's knee that he knew would be in the most pain, because he knew the anatomy of the man's leg intimately. He knew where it would hurt if he sat with it curled toward his body too long, and he knew where it would be hurting if he had overused it. He also knew which spots to press, and exactly how far he could push the muscles before they turned from relief to pain. He could only wish that he knew the same amount about the rest of the man.

The look on Dean's face at that moment was stoic, unreadable, as if he were purposely trying to conceal any give aways as to what was going through his mind. Cas breathed out a sigh, giving up on trying to decipher the Winchester Face for the moment. He hurriedly changed out of his clothing, stripping down to his stark white boxer shorts, and crawled into his own bed. When he glanced back over, he found Dean covertly watching him, a flush having crept up the man's neck.

"So, uh, we heading back first thing tomorrow?" Dean finally stammered when he managed to pull his gaze away.

"I thought that maybe we could check out a few of the sights in town first. There were pamphlets in the lobby that I found. There's a motorcycle and car museum that I figured you might enjoy, as well as an exhibit at the science museum about muscle composition using actual human specimens. They've been preserved in a new way using liquid rubber." Dean made a brief face at the mention of human specimens, but he seemed to relent because after a moment, he shrugged.

"Sounds like it could be fun, yeah." He nodded briefly before adjusting the ice. He let it sit on his knee until the skin was cool and the muscles no longer felt like they were trying to escape through his skin before leaning over and dropping the ice bag into the trash can. "Well, if we're gonna get all that done, we better get some rest. Sounds like tomorrow is gonna be a busy day." Cas nodded his own agreement, shuffling to scoot further under his blanket, the white fabric a stark contrast to his tanned chest. Dean chastised himself silently for staring a moment too long.

"It will be a rather eventful day. I have some painkillers in my bag if the stress gets to be too much on your knee. Just say the word. Goodnight, Dean." Cas reached over and flicked off the light between their beds, laying his messy hair on the fluffy pillow. Dean stared at him in the safety of the darkness a moment before settling into his own sleeping position, and responding softly.

"Sweet dreams, Cas."

 


	6. Nightmares and Propositions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter being so short. Also, it's not my favorite chapter I've written for this fic, but it was a necessary evil to get to the next plot points.

_"They've got us surrounded, Dean!" Bobby's voice cut through the ping and whir of bullets raining down around them. "We need to move or those bastards are gonna be storming through that door!"_

Dean and his training officer, Bobby Singer, were hunkered down in the ruins of an apartment. They'd been working a drug ring case for weeks, despite the warnings that came down from their superiors, and things had finally come to a head. The cartel leader had put out a hit on both of them to shut them up, and the local members had lured them here. Now they were pinned down, bleeding, and without communication to their department. They were fucked.

Dean checked his magazine twice, cautious of his bleeding and mangled hand, before looking up at Bobby. The older man was stained with blood across several cuts on his face, and his skin was slick with grim and dirt.

"Alright...here's the plan. Before the comms went down, they said that they were almost at the intersecetion a few blocks away, right?" Bobby nodded in response to Dean's question. "So, on the count of three, you're going to pop up, empty your mag, and you run like hell. We'll get out the back, and head toward back up. Clear?"

"Look at you, comin' up with plans that might actually work. Proud of ya, rookie. Ya know...figured I'd say it in case this plan goes to hell" Dean nodded wtih a faint, weak smile.

"Well, thanks, Bobby. I'll remind you that you said that when we get back to the department. Beers on you. Ready?" Bobby gave a half nod, checking his own magazine. "Alright. One...two...three!" He popped up from behind his cover, firing his weapon in the general direction that the shots at them were coming from before bolting out the back door.

His breathing was ragged but just barely audible over the sound of his boots pounding against the pavement. Bobby was right beside him, glancing over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

"This blows." Dean grumbled, his good hand clutched around the grip of his gun, despite the clip being empty. "Where the hell is the back up?!"

There was no response to his question, and he glanced over at Bobby, suprised when he found the man had stopped a few hundred feet back. He stopped running, and turned to face him.

"Bobby? The hell are you doin', man?! They're gonna be lookin' for us, we gotta keep moving!" Bobby stared back at him silently, his jaw hanging open. "...Bobby?" His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as he watched Bobby dropping to his knees, his hand clutched to his stomach. Dean was at his side in a moment, grabbing at him to keep him upright, and babbling "no" incoherently.

"Bobby, c’mon! Ya can’t...ya can’t go...I need you here, man. Who else is gonna tell me when I’m bein’ an idiot?! Who’s gonna show me the ropes?!" Bobby coughed loudly, blood staining his teeth as he did. His eyes were wide, and full of a terror that Dean had never seen before.

"This ain’t gonna e-end well, boy. They got me pretty damn g-good." Dean shook his head vahemently.

"No, you’re gonna be fine. Back up is gonna get here, and we’re both gonna be laughin’ about this by breakfast tomorrow morning."

"’Fraid not, son. You...y-you’re gonna be a great cop. I k-know you are. Just remember what I told ya, and you’ll do just fine." Dean’s eyes were brimming with tears by the time he was able to speak again.

"Please...please don’t go, Bobby."

"You’re gonna be f-fine, boy." Before he could reply, Bobby’s eyes fluttered closed.

He screamed until his lung felt like they were on fire, his hand pressed to the wound that pumped blood over his fingers from Bobby's stomach. No one came. Not in time. He felt Bobby's heart slowing until it stopped under his fingers.

_"_ Dean! _" The voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away._

_"_ Dean, wake up!" His eyes shot open, and his hands scrambled for purchase anywhere he could reach. A half-silent scream tore from his throat as his eyes finally settled on the face above him...Cas...Cas was shaking his shoulders, his blue eyes hazed in concern. He took a moment to try to gain his bearings as his breathing slowed, and he loosened his hold on Cas’ tshirt.

"C-Cas..." He rasped softly. It vaguely registered in the back of his mind that his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and his hair had become matted to his forehead. Cas was seated on the edge of his bed, his hands still resting on Dean’s shoulders. A quick glance at the clock on the nighstand revealed that it was only one-thirty, Dean had barely been asleep for an hour.

"It’s okay, Dean. I’m here, you’re safe...you were having a nightmare." Cas’ voice was even, and quiet, as if he was afraid of speaking too loud and spooking Dean. Dean ran his hands through his hair slowly, his eyes closing to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t even taken into consideration when he agreed to go on this trip that this could happen. He hadn’t let anyone see this side of him...the nightmares that plagued him at night.

"I, uh...thanks, Cas. I think...I think I’m alright." He tried to brush off the feeling of shame pooling in his stomach. Cas’ gaze settled on him for a moment, a frown fixed on his face firmly, until he stood and headed toward his own bed again.

"Alright...but, if you need me, don’t hesitate to wake me, okay?" Dean gave a jerky nod, rubbing at the back of his neck as he settled back against his pillow. It didn’t take long for Cas to start snoring softly again.

He let out a shaky breath of relief that the man hadn’t asked any other questions about the nightmare. His training officer’s death had taken a massive toll on him when he’d first joined the force. He hadn’t slept more then an hour at a time for months after it happened, and he’d been put on administrative leave until he’d been cleared by the department therapist. It had been hell.

The nightmares had been gone for quite a while, but they seemed to be returning recently. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he knew that it was going to drive him insane if he let it. He sighed softly, and closed his eyes, willing himself back to sleep. He had a day of driving ahead of him.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next time Dean woke, it was because he heard the clatter and bustle of Cas in the bathroom as he got ready. He groaned and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head. It took half a second for the events of the early morning to come rushing back to him. He'd had a nightmare. And Cas had seen in. He knew that he could be a bit...out of sorts after his nightmares, even though they came often enough that he should be used to them by now.

He was chewing at his thumb nail and pacing the room, still clad in just a pair of loose fitting boxers, when Cas came out of the bathroom, running a towel over his unruly hair. He smiled politely at Dean, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Good morning, Dean. I hope you don't mind that I hopped in the shower first. The good thing about large hotels is that they don't have a short supply of hot water, so you should still be alright for your shower." He was chipper. Too damned chipper, in Dean's opinion, for someone who had witnessed his frie...one of his physical therapy clients after the throws of a PTSD-riddled sleep.

"...You're not gonna mention...last night?" He stared, mostly out of disbelief, but also so his eyes could track the droplets of water that trailed down Cas' neck slowly.

"What's there to mention? Dean, I understand that you've seen some...horrific things in your line of work. I won't pretend that I understand the weight of everything that you have witnessed, but I also am not going to pretend that it is something that I am horrified by it. All I can do is let you know that I am here if you ever need to talk." Dean stared at him for a long moment, almost feeling as if he were going to crawl out of his skin.

No one had ever had that reaction to one of his nightmares. Even Sam had given him a hard time about it after the third night of waking up to Dean's screams. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react to this almost stranger reacting so easily, and supportive about the whole situation.

He stammered for a few moments before bolting into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He rested his head against the condesation slicked wood, and let out a shuddered sigh. His head hurt, and his tongue felt like there was a growth of hair across it. He needed a shower, he needed to brush his teeth. But, mostly, he needed to get the hell out of the same space as Castiel Novak. Cas made it hard to think cleary. Hell, he could barely find the brain function to perform mandatory acts like breathing when he was around the other man.

He stood there for a moment longer before cranking the water in the shower on a bit more roughly than necessary, and stripping down to step under the spray, letting the pulsing jets of water relax the muscles in his neck. He gave a soft sigh, his forehead resting against the cool tile of the shower wall.

Almost forty minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following after him, and gave Cas a sheepish look, stuffing his dirty clothes into his bag. He didn't say anything for a long while, and Cas, thankfully, didn't either. He seemed to realize that Dean needed a while to collect his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was meak and hoarse from having been quiet so long.

"So, uh, what's next? We just...drive home?" Cas nodded, packing his own bag.

"I suppose that would be the best plan. We do still have to work tomorrow, and it took us a while to get here." Cas said, zipping up his bag. He chewed at his lip for a moment before continuing. "Dean, I have a favor to ask."

"Yeah? What's up? Everything okay?" Dean finished packing his own bag and straightened up to stare at the other man in concern.

"Oh, yes, everything is alright. I just...there's this dinner that all of the physcial therapists go in the area go to. I was hoping that maybe you...would like to accompany me?" Dean stared, his jaw hanging open. Cas was asking him to a dinner...with all of his colleagues. As...a date?

"You want me to come with you...like on a date?"

"I guess that it could be considered a date, yes." Cas' face was beet red as he responded, fidgeting nervously. The grin that creased Dean's features was slow.

"Yeah, man, I can go to the dinner with you. No problem." He watched the other man breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank goodness. I was worried that I had been misconstruing the signs from you." He let out a nervous chuckle. "Alright, well, lets get going, then. We'll need to stop and have my tuxedo pressed before Friday. You have a tuxedo, right? Or some sort of suit?"

"I have my dress blues."

"Wonderful, that will work just fine." Cas nodded, hoisting his bag over his shoulder, and heading out the door. It vaguely registered with Dean as he followed him to the car, and started back toward his house, that this may have been over his head.

 


	7. PSA

I know this isn't a new chapter, but I wanted to let everyone know that this fic will be delayed for a few weeks. I will be going in to have knee surgery (which is the plot starter for this fic) on April 10th, and am being bombarded by appointments until then. My apologies, and I'll be back as soon as I can.


	9. Dressed To The Nines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously apologize for this chapter being so short, but I needed a lead in to the formal dinner portion. Also, I'm almost completely healed from surgery, so I will hopefully be able to post more frequently soon!

Dean had spent the better part of the time leading up to Cas' dinner arguing that his dress blues were perfect for any sort of formal event. Cas, of course, had to be difficult and took him to some snooty tuxedo shop that Dean had only seen when he drove past it on patrol. The guy had taken his measurements, getting a bit too close for comfort on the inseams, and Cas had sat on the overstuffed couch, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

He had been trying to decide which day he could manage not eating at all, courtesy of the price tag on the tuxedo that the cashier had rung up with a faux grin, when Cas had brushed him aside and handed over some matte black credit card. Dean had tried to argue that he could pay for his own damned tux, but Cas had just waved off the arguement, supplying the fact that he had invited Dean, so he could pay.

That had been a few days before, now Dean was standing in front of the mirror in his little beach house. He smoothed his hands over the fabric of the slacks carefully, shivering at the smooth feeling under his gun-calloused finger tips. He shifted to grab the dress shirt that was sprawled across his bed. He didn't often get a chance to dress up, so he was going to at least try to enjoy this.

At least, that's what he told himself when he felt the slide of silk under his slacks. A blush crept up his neck when the pale blue garment peeked out from under the tuxedo pants. He didn't often...indulge in wearing the panties, but this seemed like as good an occasion as any. He figured he was going to be the only one that saw them, there was no reason _not_ to wear them, right?

He pushed away the little voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like his father calling him a girl, and slipped on his shirt. Cas was supposed to be showing up within the next hour to pick him up, and he didn't want to be caught looking at his own ass in the full length mirror.

It took him nearly the rest of the hour to finish getting ready, between combing his hair into some semblance of presentable, shaving the thick stubble coating on his jawline, and tying his bowtie with his thick fingers. The knock at the door startled him out of his own thoughts, and he moved quickly to pull it open. He was pretty sure that his jaw almost dented the floor with how quickly it dropped at the sight ahead of him.

Cas always looked good, there was no denying that, but he looked even better than Dean had thought possible when he was clad in a well-fitted, newly pressed tuxedo. His normally wild hair had been combed down to make sure that he looked well put together, and his eyes seemed even more blue then normal. Dean stammered, trying to make his mouth speak the greeting that his brain was practically screaming.

"Hello, Dean." Cas thankfully supplied before he had a chance to make a fool of himself.

"H-Heya, Cas...you, uh, you look good." He gestured to the other man's apparel, and swallowed around the thick lump that had seemingly found its way into his throat. Cas absently brushed a hand over his tuxedo jacket.

"I do? Well, thank you...that means a lot, coming from you. You look good, as well." Cas smiled, his eyes travelling over Dean's frame slowly. He shifted after a moment, clearing his throat and allowing his eyes to dart around nervously.

"Thanks, man. So, uh...think we should head out? Don't wanna be late for your fancy little shindig." Dean gestured toward the driveway awkwardly with one arm, the other clinging to the doorknob to keep himself from doing something as insanely stupid as reaching out and brushing the wayward piece of hair off of Cas' forehead.

Cas' hand disappeared into the pocket of his tuxedo, and he produced a worn-looking, silver pocket watch. Dean's brows shot up towards his hairline in his curiousity.

"Seriously, Cas?"

"...What do you mean?" Cas stared curiously, the pocket watch settled in the palm of his hand.

"A _pocket watch_? What are you, seventy?" A blush teased around the edges of Cas' neck at the statement, and he quickly tucked the watch back into his pocket, clearing his throat.

"It is a family heirloom, Dean." He immediately felt like an ass when the man in front of him produced the statement. "You are right, we should be going if we don't want to be late." The air in front of him was vacant before he could retort, and Cas was striding across his driveway toward a deep red Camaro parked behind his Impala. Dean's eyes widened after he locked up his door and took in the car's apperance, sliding into the smooth leather of the passenger's seat.

The engine roared to life as Cas flicked the key in the ignition, and tore out of the driveway. Dean glanced over at the stormy expression on his face before letting out a soft sigh, and beginning to mentally prepare himself for the night of hell he was sure was coming.

 


End file.
